American Medicine: I survived the death knell thanks to the devil.

Chapter 93 Negotiation

Lynn had just squatted down in front of Ravi, and before he could even touch Ravi's chin, Arjun spoke up from behind.

"By the way, Dr. Lin, how is Tuko's grandmother recovering?"

His tone was extremely casual, as if he were saying, "Is the weather nice today?"

Lynn's hand hovered in mid-air for less than a second.

My fingers landed on Ravi's jawline, then moved to the side of his jaw, and my fingertips gently touched along the edge of the hydrocolloid patch to check for redness and oozing around the incision.

"Two weeks after the surgery, as long as there is no internal leakage, recovery is just a matter of time."

Lynn's tone was equally natural.

The wound is healing well; most of the sutures have been absorbed; the tissue fibers in the scar formation stage are uniformly oriented, and there are no signs of infection.

As he inspected the area, he said, "You have people around Tuko, don't you?"

Arjun neither denied nor admitted it.

He stood about two steps behind Lynn, his hands clasped in front of him, in the same posture as the head waiter at a Michelin-starred restaurant.

"I only care about every surgery my doctor has performed."

He said, "Post-operative follow-up is a basic respect for professionals."

Threats are disguised as politeness, and blades are hidden in silk.

Lynn then turned her head and glanced at Arjun.

Their eyes met.

Like two blades crossing, metal against metal, they retract after a crisp sound.

Lynn turned back to continue examining Ravi's wound.

"The recovery is going well."

He asked Ravi, his tone switching cleanly and crisply, "Do you have any problems eating normally? Do you choke or cough when swallowing?"

Ravi typed, replying with synthesized speech: "Swallowing is fine, it's just that my vocal cords are damaged. Doctor, you know better than I do."

His tone was so relaxed, as if he were talking about someone else's business.

Bilateral recurrent laryngeal nerve severance has resulted in permanent vocal cord paralysis, meaning the person will never be able to produce sound using their own vocal cords again. A normal person would have collapsed from this level of trauma.

Ravi sat in the sunlight, chatting with someone on his phone, as if he had simply changed the way he spoke.

He typed another line.

Lynn could even hear the synthesized voice lowering its volume, sounding somewhat cautious: "Dr. Lin, could you talk to my brother and tell him to stop constantly making sure I take my medicine? I'll take it on time myself—"

"Ravi".

Arjun's voice was soft and her tone was gentle.

Ravi's thumb stopped on the screen, and he didn't tap it again.

He placed his phone face down on his lap and looked down at his slippers.

A person who has lost his vocal cords and can only speak through a mobile phone was silenced by the word "Ravi".

Even the softest voice is an order, and even the faintest smile is a warning.

Arjun looked at Lynn and smiled slightly.

"He's been like this since he was little. He talks a lot when there are strangers around."

It's like an ordinary older brother teasing his younger brother about his bad habits.

The scene of swords flashing and fighting just now has never happened before.

"Dinner is ready."

Arjun stepped aside and gestured with her hand toward the stairs, "Please."

The restaurant is on the second floor.

The long dining table was covered with a white cotton cloth and could seat a hundred people, but only five sets of tableware were set on it.

In front of each seat is a copper cup and a large stainless steel round plate, which Indians call "tali".

Five small bowls are arranged evenly around the edge of the disc, like the markings on a clock.

Ah-Jung sat at the head of the long table, facing the window.

The first seat to his right is Ravi's, the seat closest to the master.

The first seat on the left is empty.

Opposite to the kitchen, sat a thin man who had opened the door and another, younger man of Indian descent.

The two were already seated, heads bowed, their gazes fixed on the disc in front of them.

Lynn walked straight to the empty seat to Arjun's left and sat down.

The person to the right of the host is a close relative, and the person to the left is a distinguished guest.

This set of rules is applicable in many cultural circles.

A middle-aged Indian woman wearing an apron came out carrying a copper pot, her back slightly bent, her footsteps almost silent.

The dishes were served in a strict order following the same route: Arjun, Ravi, Lynn, and the two people opposite.

First comes a bowl of rice, then lentil soup is poured over it.

The side dishes include curried vegetables, yogurt, and a dish of pickled green mango sauce.

Vegan.

No one spoke the entire time.

After all the dishes were served, the two men opposite him sat upright and did not move an inch.

They were waiting for Ah-Jung to eat first.

Lynn didn't move either.

Place both hands under the table and keep in sync with Arjun.

The brief exchange downstairs seemed to have been left behind at the corner of the stairs.

At this moment, the only sounds on the table were the aroma of spices and the subtle clinking of bronze utensils; it all seemed like an ordinary family dinner.

Ah-Jung raised her right hand, put her five fingers together, and kneaded a small amount of rice and bean soup into a tight ball in the plate before putting it into her mouth.

The two people opposite each other lowered their heads and started eating almost simultaneously.

Lynn also raised her hand, imitating Arjun's technique, and kneaded a rice ball in the plate with her right fingertip.

The first time I didn't pinch it tightly enough, the rice grains scattered between my fingers, and the bean soup dripped down my wrist.

Ravi typed with his clean hand.

The synthesized voice said, "Don't grip too tightly, push forward with your fingertips, like you're twisting a ball of yarn."

Ah-Qiong watched as he got bean soup all over his hand, and her lips twitched slightly.

"Dr. Lin, you can use a spoon. We're not particular about these things, just use whatever is convenient for you—"

"When in Rome, do as the Romans do."

Lynn interrupted Arjun's politeness with a smile.

The second rice ball has taken shape.

When you put it in your mouth, the aroma of rice mixed with the spiciness of the spices gives it a texture that's definitely more satisfying than eating it with a spoon.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do.

Arjun repeated the sentence, as if savoring the aftertaste of red wine.

Then he smiled.

"That's an interesting point. Dr. Lin knows the rules very well, no matter where he is."

Lynn lowered her head and continued kneading the rice dough.

The third one was already squeezed very firmly.

Halfway through the meal, the woman who served the food brought over a bowl of hot milk and placed it in front of Ravi.

Ravi frowned as he typed, his synthesized voice laced with complaint: "Milk again. I'm not a five-year-old."

Arjun glanced at him.

Ravi rolled his eyes, picked up the bowl, and drank it.

While he was drinking, Arjun discreetly removed the dish of pickled mango sauce from in front of Ravi.

Ravi stared at the empty space, his thumb flying across the screen. The synthesized voice adopted a more accusatory tone: "You took my mango sauce."

"Spicy and sour foods can affect the recovery of the surgical area," A-Qiong said calmly.

Ravi turned the phone towards Lynn. The synthesized voice deliberately raised its volume: "Dr. Lynn, you be the judge."

Lynn glanced at the copper cup in front of Ravi. He was drinking water more frequently today, which indicated that he still had slight discomfort in his throat when swallowing.

After cricothyroidotomy, the scar tissue is still in the proliferative phase, and strong acid and spicy stimulation may indeed aggravate local edema.

"Your brother is right. Avoid spicy and sour foods for the first three months after surgery. If you crave them, try rice mixed with yogurt; the taste is similar, but much less irritating."

Ravi spread his hands, looking helpless.

Then, resignedly, I scooped a spoonful of yogurt and poured it over the rice.

The dinner was drawing to a close.

The woman cleared away the empty plates and served sliced ​​mango chunks and a pot of masala tea.

The strong aroma of cardamom and cinnamon rises with the steam.

Arjun stood up and personally poured Lynn a cup of tea.

This action caused the shoulders of the two men opposite them to tense slightly at the same time.

At this table, Arjun personally poured tea, clearly treating him as a VIP.

Lynn took the teacup and filled Arjun's cup as well.

"Dr. Lin."

Ah-Qiong picked up her teacup: "On the last weekend of every month, I hold a free clinic in the open space behind the pharmacy. I provide free medical care and medicine to people in the community."

"Those without health insurance or legal status. More and more people are coming, and I can't handle all the complex cases by myself."

He paused.

"If you'd like, come help out. We'll discuss the payment separately."

Lynn looked at him.

This man, who was injecting sclerosing agents into drug addicts in his basement to test his medical skills, was actually doing community outreach clinics.

Arjun understood his look.

"How much did the free clinic cost? A few boxes of regular medicine that were about to expire, and a weekend's wages. What did I get in return? No one would report me. When someone came to investigate, the whole street would say that Ah-Qiong was a good person."

He put down his teacup.

"The purpose of doing charity is never charity itself. When you become a protector of a community, the community will protect you in return."

The logic is so clear and impeccable.

Lynn took a sip of tea.

"I can come. But there are a few conditions."

"I'll do it in your basement. You screen patients upstairs; handle the routine minor ailments yourself, and send the more complicated ones downstairs to me."

"My face won't be shown outside. The community only needs to know you've seen a doctor; who it is,..."

You control where it came from and what it looks like.

Arjun's eyebrows twitched slightly. "You don't want anyone to know you're here."

"Everything I did in the Bronx required isolation. The hospital, this place, and everywhere else."

The fewer people who have seen my face, the more things I can do.

When Ah-Qiong placed the teacup back on the table, the bottom of the cup was perfectly aligned with the center of the saucer.

"Other places."

Arjun smiled. "Which places?"

A doctor who only works for Arjun only needs to isolate the two nodes: the "hospital" and "this side".

The phrase "other places" is tantamount to admitting the existence of a third line.

Lynn put down her teacup and looked at Arjun.

"You invited me to dinner not just to say thank you, right?"

Arjun clapped his hands twice.

The thin man immediately stood up and bent down to tidy the table.

A young man came over and helped Ravi to his feet.

Ravi quickly typed a line on his phone and said in a synthesized voice, "Goodnight, Dr. Lin. Next time you come, the model will be more advanced, and I can sing for you."

"Okay, I'm looking forward to it." Lynn smiled politely at him.

Ravi smiled, his eyes crinkling.

He was helped upstairs.

The woman who served the dishes came out of the kitchen and took away the teapot.

The thin man carried the folded cotton tablecloth out the door.

Everyone filed away, their footsteps disappearing around the corner of the stairs, and the door closed softly behind them.

The entire second floor fell silent instantly.

Arjun and Lynn sat facing each other.

Arjun pulled a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his suit, carefully wiped the spaces between each finger of his right hand, then folded the handkerchief twice and placed it on the table.

Every movement was deliberate and unhurried, as if he were following a ritual known only to himself.

After wiping his hands, he looked up.

The thoughtfulness and warmth that had been maintained throughout the meal had completely vanished.

The face revealed underneath was almost identical to the mask, but the eyes were different.

"What's your relationship with Tuco?" Lynn asked first.

"He sells fentanyl, I sell generic drugs."

Arjun said, "Many people who have recovered no longer need painkillers."

"He didn't touch you?"

"Because I don't touch his core business. I only deal in generic drugs, not hardcore products. He also knows where this line of business is."

Arjun continued, "But recently I've been expanding, and that line has become a bit blurred."

Lynn waited for him to continue.

Ah-Jung picked up her teacup, took a sip, and turned away.

"You perform surgery on Tuco, and you perform surgery on me. You get paid by both. I have no objection to that. Doctors shouldn't choose their patients."

It's like a statement of agreement, yet also like a reaffirmation of a bottom line.

Doctors can choose not to choose their patients, but if they do choose one day, they will have to bear the consequences of that choice.

Arjun put down his teacup. "Next week, I need you for the entire day. From midnight to midnight."

"What are you doing?"

"Medical standby. Surgery may be performed, or nothing may be done. But you must be within my reach around the clock."